DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Savage Garden, this is fiction--lets pray it never happens.

I don’t own Michael Jackson but I do own a copy of the Blood Is On The Dance floor album.

Contains: Dark themes, suicide, self-harm etc

With thanks to Linda G for beta reading it

A fist raised to knock on a door, the door opens and green eyes lock on to mine-the word ‘reunited’ springs to mind and my stomach clenches in fear as his face changes from shock to a guarded, closed off look full of hostility. Inwardly I cringe but instead of running off back into my old home I offer a shaky smile.

"Hey,"

"Darren? What are you doing here?"

I study my shoes "I..uh…I wanted to see you"

"But-"

"I know it’s been so long but…" I sigh, "May-may I come in?"

I look up at him-his face unreadable, I wait for him to scream and tell me to piss off and crawl under whatever stone I came out of, I wouldn’t blame him if he did-heck he has every right to after all the shit I put him through but to my surprise he steps back from the door

"Sure."

So I came in, sat down staring at my hands, which were clamped together on my lap.

"Danny, I…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every fight we had. I’m sorry we couldn’t have ended Savage Garden on better terms I-" I go on like this for a while until my eyes are brimming with tears I didn’t know I had left to shed and to my surprise I feel his arms around me, friendly-comforting, he forgives me! My heart lightens, when we broke up I nearly lost everything-including myself, because I didn’t just lose my best mate, I lost the man I was madly in love with. But that was a long time ago, the fights, the arguments, the confidence I had back then seems like some shadow of a thing.

And now things are better. We sit, I don’t know for how long, talking about everything possible. He tells me about his girlfriend- Claire, how much he loves her, about his music business how happy it is and I find myself smiling at his joy- happiness I haven’t truly felt in so long. I don’t tell him about my album deal getting cut; instead ask him questions about him and Claire, his parents, his music-everything and nothing, until he looks at his watch and apologises. He’s picking Claire up for a date tonight- he grins conspiratorially at me and shows me a ring, which takes my breath away and I think would break my heart if I wasn’t so numb. I grin back at him and hug him congratulations even though he hasn’t proposed yet. I’m almost jealous of the girl, but then, she probably is far more deserving of his love than I.

Besides, I knew deep in my gut that even if we made friends again he’d still be straight and unattainable Dan. But I love him still.

Just as I’m out the door I turn to him "Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m glad we’re friends again, and I’m really happy for you."

He sweeps me into a hug. "I missed you too, Daz. Talk to you soon,‘kay?"

I smile and wave as I walk towards my car.

I don’t reply though but I take a long look at him as he goes back into the house.

I think over the past few hours, replenishing my memory of his startling eyes and his grin and every little detail about him. Then I put the key in the ignition and head home.

I sit down at the table in the living room and write the words I’ve rehearsed so well in my head.

I didn’t label it- what would be the point- it’s been so long since I understood myself and others I couldn’t guess who would cry and who would rejoice.

I then turned to my execution tool of choice- strong sleeping pills; I’m not good with pain, really. I cut myself –yes, to get me through each day. But I know that would be too hard to die that way, so for the past year or so I’ve made a habit of getting hold of sleeping pills, strong as possible. I’ve got plenty of them now. I smile looking at my CD collection where I know resides the Michael Jackson song ‘Morphine.’ Grabbing my bottle of water I begin taking the pills and I can almost hear the song

My insides are beginning to throb in pain and I feel light-headed, I slump down unable to move my body and I smile. Maybe, somewhere in the back of this warped void I call a mind part of me played scenarios where Danny would find the scars, or fall into my arms, but neither of them would have happened. I wouldn’t want him seeing the scars anyway. He’s too beautiful to be tainted by seeing my self-inflicted disfigurements, then he’d know how fucked up I was. Well, he’d find out now but at least I wouldn’t know his reaction.

My mind’s growing hazy and in the back of my mind I hear a noise- the doorbell? Or the phone? I can’t tell. If it’s the milkman the poor guy’s gonna get the shock of his life if he sees me- a corpse on the couch.

But It’s over- I feel my eyes close and I willingly submit to the darkness around me.